Classic Poem

This the law of all war through all ages:
The choice of the earth it will claim;
It is writ on a thousand red pages:
“We call not your weak and your lame!”

The fruit of your home you must send us!
You, mother, the strongest you bore!
The blood-mark is there on your gatepost,
The Herod of hate and of war!

Your red-blooded, high-browed, heroic!
The clear-eyed, alert of your sons;
The mighty of muscle, the lithe-limbed;
The clear-thinking, keen-minded ones!

So—build you a race on the weaklings;
The cycle of growth starts again;
Go back to the place where you struggled,
And travail a new birth of men!

This the law of all war through all ages:
The choice of the earth it will claim;
It is writ on a thousand red pages:
“We call not your weak and your lame!”

This the law of all war through all ages:
—The choice of the earth it will claim;
It is writ on a thousand red pages:
—“We call not your weak and your lame!”

The fruit of your home you must send us!
—You, mother, the strongest you bore!
The blood-mark is there on your gatepost,
—The Herod of hate and of war!

Your red-blooded, high-browed, heroic!
—The clear-eyed, alert of your sons;
The mighty of muscle, the lithe-limbed;
—The clear-thinking, keen-minded ones!

So—build you a race on the weaklings;
—The cycle of growth starts again;
Go back to the place where you struggled,
—And travail a new birth of men!

This the law of all war through all ages:
—The choice of the earth it will claim;
It is writ on a thousand red pages:
—“We call not your weak and your lame!”